Logical Interference
by AirElemental101
Summary: Before meeting Sherlock Holmes, John Watson had never known anyone so able to both find and be found by trouble. However, in the case of one Harry James Potter, John was not sure whose penchant for trouble was to be blamed for their situation.


Ok, so just for the hell of it I've decided to load this and a couple other things I've been working on up here. This is not a promise of regular updates or even of a continuation. Life is a fickle and changing thing and I may or may not have time to update this or the others, but I write for each as I have time and inspiration. I hope you enjoy what I have so far, and hopefully I'll get around to writing/uploading more in the future.

Disclaimer: I own neither Sherlock nor Harry Potter and anything familiar and related to either.

Personal defense: I know Sherlocks 'deductions' in this chapter aren't up to scratch. Frankly I'm amazed I managed to write it as well as it turned out, for I most assuredly am no Sherlock Holmes.

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Before meeting Sherlock Holmes, John Watson had never known anyone so able to both find and be found by trouble. So when trouble inevitably arose around them, John tended to lay the blame directly on his strange flat mate, who had no problem with such and really found it all rather amusing.

However, in the case of one Harry James Potter, John was not sure whose penchant for trouble was to be blamed for their situation.

It all began one day in July while John and Sherlock were out wandering the streets in search of food. Sherlock's latest experiment—a strange one involving a pig heart, a bottle of vodka and a blender—had turned out quite badly after the man had somehow forgotten to properly fasten the lid. John had taken one look at the kitchen, sighed and announced he was going out for a bite. No doubt knowing that if he stayed behind he'd be expected to clean the kitchen himself, Sherlock opted to tag along.

They had wandered a good four or five blocks without reaching a decision, and Sherlock's suggestion of Angelo's because at least it would be free was just starting to show some merit when John looked ahead and saw something he didn't like the look of—a ridiculously large man grabbing a young boy about the neck before shoving him violently against a wall in a nearby alley.

"Sherlock…" John said uncertainly.

"Yes John, I saw it," said Sherlock, glaring at the alley they were quickly approaching.

As they grew nearer they could begin to make out the conversation.

"What the bloody hell do you mean by it, Boy? We let you come along on our outing out of the goodness of our hearts and how do you repay us? I told you before we left that if you dared to force your freakishness upon us in public I'd give you a beating like you haven't had in years!"

"I'm sorry Uncle Vernon, but it wasn't me!"

"LIAR!"

They reached the corner of the alley just in time to see the man let loose a backhand hit to the teen's face, knocking the boy to the ground.

"Hey! Excuse me!" yelled John, running forward between the man and his nephew who was no doubt still seeing stars.

"Mind your own business! The boy merely needs some good discipline!"

"I believe your definition of 'discipline' is quite different from that of my own and that of the authorities, sir!"

"You don't know what the hell you're talking about! A good thrashing is all freaks like him deserve!"

Surprisingly, it wasn't John to retaliate. With strength John did not suspect Sherlock to possess, the detective spun the large man around before slamming him into the wall with his arm cutting across the windpipe.

"Judging by your movements you were about to strike out at my friend here. You should consider yourself lucky I restrained you for while the good doctor may appear to have a gentle demeanor he is in fact a war veteran with a certain appreciation for violence when in the use of a good cause. And violence used in self defense as well as the defense of a minor would no doubt qualify.

As for you, like any typical schoolyard bully you appreciate violence, but only from you towards others you feel to be superior to you but physically weaker. You hate your nephew because something about him puts him in higher standing than yourself and you can't stand it. Obviously the abuse has been going on for years—the scar on the boy's head is a very old one and such a refined shape is unlikely to have been made in an accident. The boy would have been too young to show any particular superior qualities, so at least some of the perceived inferiority must come from a hereditary status belonging to his parents.

Judging by the well abused hand-me-downs the boy is wearing there is at least one other child in the house, your son, who likely would be just as much a bully as yourself. You foster it within him; encourage him to subjugate others. Meanwhile you see your nephew—reserved, polite, and generally well liked when outside of your influence—and you know your own bully of a son is incapable of measuring up, making you hate the boy more. Overall, an inferiority complex.

You make up for this feeling in material comforts—good food, nice things, and strong alcohol. But despite your years of experience in the work place, you're still within middle class, and can't rightly afford all the luxuries you continue to bathe yourself and your family with, but you do so anyway in fear of losing the comfortable lifestyle you've accustomed yourself too. You're in debt up to your eyeballs which increases your feeling of inferiority which in turn causes you to buy, buy, buy and eat, eat, eat. This obviously causes weight gain and judging by your general physique I'd say you're likely suffering from both diabetes and high blood pressure. At this rate I give you another 5 years tops before you suffer the inevitable heart attack that took your own father before you. And I'd look into your wife's activities outside the house. I believe she's having an affair.

Now you will pick yourself up and kindly leave our vicinity before we decide the world would be better served with you being locked behind the bars of the local police. And before you doubt—be aware that I have enough influence in the right places to have you completely disappear. A jail sentence would be a kindness on my part."

Sherlock stepped away and the obese man took gasping breathes as he nearly collapsed against the wall. Once he'd gotten enough of his breath back he stood and glared viciously at the two men. "Fine, take the freak! See what good it does you! Don't say I didn't warn you! And you, boy! You have two days to get your… things from the house before I burn all that rubbish!"

Once the man had plodded off down the street Sherlock and John turned to each other.

"Well, that was exciting."

"What have you done?" asked a horrified whisper.

They turned quickly towards the boy who apparently had regained proper consciousness at some point. However, instead of a look of relief they found one of shock and terror.

"The man was going to beat you senseless in the middle of an alleyway. What would you have had us do?" asked John, a little mystified at the boy's response.

"You should have left it alone! Now when I have to go back it will only be worse!"

"Who said you had to go back?"

"I don't have a choice."

"What do you mean you don't— Of course you have a choice!" John said, bewildered. "People don't look kindly on child abuse and there's enough evidence to have you removed—"

"It's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do, but it won't work—"

"Who are you looking for?"

John and the boy turned to Sherlock, who was staring unblinkingly at the boy taking in and dissecting every observation to feed his deductions.

"What do you mean? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are looking up and down the street both directions. If you were looking for your uncle you would be looking the direction he went. So there is someone else you are expecting."

There was a pause as the boy stared at Sherlock, his face carefully blank.

"Who are you?" he finally asked.

"Sherlock Holmes, and the good man to my left is Doctor John Watson. Yours?"

"Harry Potter."

"Well Harry Potter, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now, how were my previous deductions?"

"Err— Excuse me?"

"My deductions! The observations I made while dressing down your uncle! How were they?"

"Sherlock, I really don't think now is the time—"

"Nonsense, now is the perfect time! Later he'll just forget. So, was I correct?"

Harry just stared at Sherlock in shock and confusion. John could completely sympathize.

"Umm… I guess…"

"On all counts?"

"I suppose…"

"Incredible! I never seem—"

"Except for the scar on my head. I actually got that when I was a baby when my parents were killed."

"Blast! There's always something…"

"Is that why you're with your uncle? Your parents, they're…"

"They're dead, have been since I was a baby. I have nowhere else to go," said Harry, looking out of the alley into the street. "I should hurry and go find them before they leave me here."

"I wouldn't bother," said Sherlock.

"Why not?"

"Because your 'family' all piled into a car and drove off not two minutes after he left this alley."

"Shit…"

"For someone who said he 'must' go back with his family you don't seem too upset with having missed the ride," said Sherlock.

"I'll just have to find a different way back. Hell, maybe its better I stay in town tonight. Uncle Vernon's temper may cool down by the time I get home tomorrow."

"And where do you intend to stay in town tonight? If I'm correct you don't have any money. That man would just as soon go on a diet as give you any sort of allowance."

"Money isn't an issue. I'll figure something out."

"Money isn't an issue…" muttered Sherlock as he looked Harry up and down. "How old are you?"

"I turn 16 this month."

"16?" said John in shock. That was older than he expected; he had guess about 14 at the most. The malnutrition Sherlock had mentioned would have to have been severe and long lasting—throughout most of his childhood actually—for it to have had such an impact.

"So too young for a proper job, not to mention the money would most likely have been taken from you as soon as you got it. Your parents are dead—inheritance then. But again, you're underage—a trust fund. Your parents wealth would likely have been quite substantial for there to already be such a trust fund in place by the time they were killed when you were a baby and given the flippancy with which you make mention of it. But if that is case, why bother with the second hand clothes from what seems to be a small elephant? Unless your relatives are in fact unaware of this money…"

"Of course they're unaware of it. If they knew I had money of my own available to me they'd try to have it from me in a heartbeat. Not that they would succeed," said Harry as he leaned against the wall, touching a hand to his still bleeding lip.

"Oh dear, I should take a look at that soon," said John, stepping forward.

"Don't worry, I've had worse," said Harry.

"And that is precisely why you shouldn't have to go back," said John, sternly.

Harry laughed, "I wasn't even talking about the Dursleys. Let's just say my years at school have been… eventful."

"Do tell," said Sherlock with interested inflection. He had turned up the charisma in an effort to make himself more personable. But judging from the suspicious looks Harry kept sending the man it was likely to be a fruitless effort. Sherlock sighed, he had shown his cards a little too early for it to work.

Harry stammered a bit, looking out the alley and up and down both directions of the street. "There's really nothing much to tell. Just a little school mischief."

"There you go looking around for someone again. That's who you're expecting to suddenly turn up. Why would someone from your school just happen to look for you as you need them during the summer holidays?" asked Sherlock with satisfaction.

"How—? You know what, it's none of your business!"

"Actually I think it is. I wasn't lying before about the connections. Unless you can give me a very good reason not to along with the explanations I seek, our next stop is the Met."

Harry just stood there staring slack jawed at Sherlock for a few moments. As serious as the situation was, John couldn't help but be slightly amused at the boy's reaction to the ways of Sherlock Holmes. Finally he seemed to pull his wits together and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts before throwing up his hands with a look of utter exasperation on his face. "Fine, whatever. Take me to the damn police. It really doesn't matter, I'll still end up back with the Dursleys."

"I don't think you understand—"

"No YOU don't understand! You can talk about whatever connections you want, but the fact of the matter is your police have no authority over me! Just… whatever you decide to do with me, let's get off the street soon. It's not just the people from my school that I'm on the lookout for."

"If it's so dangerous to be out in the open, why did you agree to travel to London with your relatives?" asked John.

"I'm assuming your usual sitter was indisposed and such people would have refused to leave him alone with the house," said Sherlock, to which Harry just nodded. "Now to hail a cab—"

"Ah hell Sherlock, we never got any food," said John with a sigh.

"Oh dear, that is a problem. I suppose we'll just have to manage."

"Yes well, _you're_ cleaning up the mess in the kitchen."

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"Considering we just past by the police station, where are we going?" asked Harry.

"We are going back to our flat at 221b Baker Street," said John.

"Weren't we going to the police?"

"Your insistence that they can do nothing about your situation has dissuaded me from that course for the moment. Besides, I'll admit that your inconsistencies have piqued my curiosity," said Sherlock.

"Seriously, there's nothing interesting about me," said Harry, though he was starting to sound resigned to his situation.

"Of course there isn't, you're just another abused and neglected orphan. If it was simply you that interested me then I would have gone into child care," Sherlock paused as he shuttered at the thought. Watson was inclined to agree. "However, your circumstances appear to be of a strange nature. Truly, what school follows their students around during the summer hols with such frequency that you would expect them to show up as you need them? If you were taken to those relatives as a baby, how do know of your inheritance but your relatives do not, especially as you are underage and would likely have needed their presence in order to go about accessing said inheritance. And why do you insist you _need_ to return to them? It isn't that you love them or that you believe you deserve the treatment they force upon you. You treat it has a necessity, despite the fact that you could in fact have yourself removed fairly easily."

"You're absolutely brilliant, you know that?" said Harry, staring at the man in somewhat awe.

"Of course I do."

Harry snorted, "Humble too, I see."

"I prefer truth to humility."

"Very well, if you're so bloody clever, tell me this—why am I even bothering to accompany you, a couple of complete strangers? In fact, why am I not bothered by it at all? Don't you think I should be a little unnerved by being picked up by a couple random blokes like a lost puppy?"

"Because you're stranded in London and we wouldn't have let you get too far," said John, giving Harry a quizzical look.

"Wrong. I'm perfectly capable of knocking the both you out and running before either of you know what hit you."

"Now who's the humble one," laughed John.

"I prefer truth to humility," Harry quoted mockingly.

"Indeed… that's a valid point," murmured Sherlock as he stared forward, reassessing everything he'd so far deduced about the teen sitting between himself and Watson. "It implies that such a thing has not only happened before but frequent enough for the 'novelty' of such an event to wear off… and that your abductors were far more intimidating than us."

"We're not abducting him… are we?" John asked worriedly.

"No we're not, but others may see it that way," replied Sherlock.

"Seriously, it would be better for all of us if you just drop me off somewhere and forget I exist," said Harry with a sigh as he looked down at his hands which he had kept held in his lap.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Both Harry and John blinked at Sherlock's question which seemed to come from nowhere.

"I don't see why that matters—"

"I would guess it's been at least a few days since your last adequate meal. Even if the skipped meals were by your own choice—which would be foolish in your already advanced state of chronic malnutrition—your relatives should not encourage such behavior let alone exacerbate it by withholding meals."

John could do nothing more than sit and stare at Sherlock in shock. If the situation hadn't been so serious he would have laughed outright—Sherlock Holmes chastising someone on poor eating habits?

'Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," thought John with a shake of his head.

Sherlock seemed to guess at John's thoughts because he looked up then and gave the doctor a condescending glare, which John returned with a nonplused look of his own. Fortunately Harry seemed to miss the exchange as he continued to stare at the floor board of their cab.

"In short, I argue it would in fact be in your best interest to stay in our company; long enough to eat a decent meal at the very least."

Harry was saved from replying by their arrival at 221b Baker Street. At which point John quickly paid the cabby, before the both of them stood hesitant before the door.

"So… do you think Mrs. Hudson has cleaned the kitchen yet?"

"It is unlikely. I believe she intended to spend the afternoon in London proper."

"In which case—Harry, don't worry about the kitchen. In fact, don't even look in that direction for a bit. Sherlock has a bit of a mess to clean up."

"Don't look in the freezer either," added Sherlock as he opened the door.

John sighed as he face palmed and followed Sherlock up the stairs in the entryway. "Do I even want to know what's in our freezer?"

"I have a case where the victims were dissected and the biceps and thighs were kept frozen for later consumption. The murderer claimed that some of the victims they were blaming him for couldn't have been done by him because he would not have had a chance to consume them in time before freezer burn would have set in. I am verifying his claim," said Sherlock as he moved to open the door to their flat.

"Bloody— What the hell is your job?" asked Harry in shocked horror. "Does that mean you have a human—"

"Indeed Mr. Potter, 'bloody' would in fact be the word I would use."

Sherlock stopped abruptly in the doorway, causing Harry to run into the man before tripping across the threshold. With reflexes not unlike a seeker's Sherlock quickly grabbed the boy before he fell face first into a pile of books.

"Thanks," said Harry as he picked himself up.

"Really Sherlock, I have to wonder at your recent tendency to pick up strays and bring them home. You do realize once you feed them they never go away?"

Harry finally got a look at the man who had spoken before. He was a tall and stocky man who sat imperiously in an armchair near the fireplace with both hands on an umbrella. Harry's first impression was of an unholy combination of Malfoy and Fudge—minus the blustering idiocy; in other words—a politician.

"Mycroft… I didn't see your car outside," replied Sherlock, not deigning the man's words with a direct response.

"I had Delilah park the car around a corner. I knew if you saw the car you would have avoided the flat and I'd rather get this discussion over with sooner rather than later," said Mycroft.

"Very well, say what you will then leave," said Sherlock as he headed towards the kitchen…only to find it blood and gore free.

"I took the liberty of having someone come in and clean up the mess. No need to do the boy any more mental damage than has already been done."

"I beg your pardon! I'm not mentally damaged!" said Harry, coming to the conclusion that he _really_ didn't like this man. "Who are you anyway?"

"The name is Mycroft Holmes, Mr. Potter, and it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," said Mycroft with a tip of his head.

'Holmes…,' thought Harry with a speculative look towards Sherlock, 'Isn't that—'

"My older brother," said Sherlock without glancing back at Harry, "And the man mostly in charge of our government. Most likely he was spying on John and I when we had our altercation with your uncle."

"Actually, I was following all of you at the time of the confrontation. I'll admit your meeting caught me off guard and caused me to have to reevaluate several scenarios and alter plans," said Mycroft.

Finally it dawned on Harry that this man, Mycroft Holmes, knew who he was.

"Wait! You were following me? Why? Are you a—" Harry stopped and glanced speculatively at the two men he'd come here with. If the man were a wizard, surely Sherlock at least would have known who he was earlier?

"No I am not. However, I am in the know and don't take my lack of magic as a lack of power, even over one such as yourself," said Mycroft.

"Magic…"

Both Harry and Mycroft turned to Sherlock who stood staring at Mycroft through narrowed eyes, occasionally sending Harry a speculative look as well. The two then glanced at each other, both obviously debating the pros and cons of the conversation to come… and how to make the other have to be the one to explain.


End file.
